


It's Not Rush Hour

by General_Sawyer



Category: Neon Genesis Evangelion
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:20:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27104119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/General_Sawyer/pseuds/General_Sawyer
Summary: "just post it ironically" - Aurora"The metal seat chills further, numbing pale fingers that lack a vessel to intertwine with. Red eyes wander here and there, eventually finding solace at that face framed by the short brown hair. A smile tugs lips buried beneath a mahogany scarf."Or: Shinji and Kaworu in the NERV subway that 100% exists in the show
Relationships: Ikari Shinji/Nagisa Kaworu
Kudos: 93





	It's Not Rush Hour

**Author's Note:**

> A friend from the US told me to post. My writing is better, right? :)  
> "Feel free to comment with any feedback/criticism. I want to improve my writing, and anything helps. Thank you."
> 
> Comente se deseja uma traducao em portugues.

Ears faintly ringing with the screeching of the subway trains passed, they wait. Voices and footsteps that are not their own dance along the tunnel until fading into dead air. The brunet's long-lashed eyes ringed with red stare anxiously yet absently ahead, baggy and darkened at the lids. Two tanned hands twiddle absent-mindedly with one another. Focus occasionally yet involuntarily turns to the grey-haired figure draped across the other side of the bench.

No words are said.

The metal seat chills further, numbing pale fingers that lack a vessel to intertwine with. Red eyes wander here and there, eventually finding solace at that face framed by the short brown hair. A smile tugs lips buried beneath a mahogany scarf.

Cute, he muses through the scratchy fabric, a smooth voice muffled yet not silenced.

The brown-haired boy’s upper half swivels to face him. "Hmm?"

"I said," the other begins, slender fingers rising off the bench and tugging the scarf away, "that you're cute, Ikari-kun."

The dark hair nearly reaching them can't hide the widening of his eyes. The pause in his breathing can't prevent the flow of blood into his cheeks. He feels light and airy, unsure of whether or not it’s caused by the words or sheer exhaustion. The white noise seems too far away. Time pauses although one half of two minds is racing.

No words are said.

A grin widens, eyes half-closed. Frigid air stings a mouth too unsure and erratic to formulate a response. Shinji swallows.

"Um, ah, I..." 

The twiddling fingers interlock and grip each other tight. Their owner finally collects himself.

"Thank you, Kaworu-kun. You too," he admits sheepishly, letting loose a nerve-wracked smile he wishes was feigned. The angel merely beams in reply, opting to sit upright while his hands remain stationary. Fighting a thick sensation in his stomach and chest, Shinji loosens his grip on himself and fixates his gaze on the dirt-smeared tiles of the subway floor. He finds solace looking at anything but him. 

“So, do you like the subway?” the less flustered asks without missing a beat, his focus wavering to their surroundings. An expectant pause is rewarded with the empty question hitting dead ears. Silence.

Kaworu turns, his hand reaching a hunched shoulder, purposeful, questioning. The slight pressure brought Shinji back to Earth with a slight jolt, the thoughts muddling his head about the recent exchange cast aside. Apologetic, he quickly shifts to center his gaze on the porcelain face laced with patient curiosity. “Uh, yeah, I guess so,” he replies stiffly. “I’ve never really thought about it that much.”

Kaworu nods as if he’s heard something thought-provoking. Shinji resorts to picking at the thick navy sweater donning his upper half, pondering on what to say next. If he should even say anything at all. He wonders what makes Kaworu say and ask such weird things.

Another flurry of noises cascades upon the two as people congregate around the rails to greet yet another roaring train. A feminine voice rings through unseen speakers, slurring words Shinji would’ve shown an ear to if it was any other day. Amidst this commotion, Kaworu languidly comments something Shinji doesn’t hear. Bench-ridden hands grow colder while long, brown-clothed legs swing back and forth ever so slightly.

No words are said.

Shinji apprehensively breaks the bubble of silence. “Hey, Nagisa-kun?”

The legs go still. “Hmm?”

“When does the Café open?” That’s the whole reason they were here, after all.

Kaworu simply hums in response, contemplating. He’s oddly quiet today, running his thumb along the ridges of their seat. “Eight-thirty.”

Another half hour? crosses Shinji’s mind as he faintly frowns in disbelief. “Really? Why’d we leave so early?” he asks, raising a brow and leveling his gaze at Kaworu, who simply smiles with closed eyes. “Well, I thought you’d like it. Being out here.” Shinji cocks his head in question, inviting the other to continue.

“You’re away from NERV. From your father, all the pressure. Isn’t that right?”

Brown eyes scan their surroundings in thought. Citizens continue to scuffle by, speaking into phones, thumbing newspapers, smoking cigarettes, jostling their way into the subway cars. A cacophony of colors and noises and smells and voices and people. It’s too much. But, in a way, it’s relieving, knowing how little he matters in the grand scheme of things.

He isn’t the pilot of EVA 01 here. He is Shinji Ikari.

“I’ve never thought of it that way,” Shinji says, almost whispering more to himself than to Kaworu. His fingers unravel, accompanied by a light sniffle. “Thank you. Again.” 

A sincere “It’s no problem,” followed by an “I enjoy being with you, Ikari-kun” floats back, the kind words pulling at the recipient’s chest and warming his face. The edges of Kaworu’s lips are ever so slightly curved upwards, and something, ¬something is stopping Shinji from staring his friend right in the face. His brown scarf hangs low on his face as he stirs, resting his cheek on his hand, arm propped up by the bench’s armrest.  
Shinji apprehensively rests his hands at his sides and sinks into the bench, letting his eyelids fall shut. The departed train has thinned the number of people in the station, leaving both visual and auditory near emptiness in its wake. This, too, is comforting to him. Maybe it’s the absence of jumping shouts keeping him awake, or the low temperatures demanding his body shut down. Maybe it’s his drowsiness brought by his illness getting to him. Maybe it’s the lack of expectations lifting a heavy weight off his shoulders. Maybe it’s the soothing idea of being more alone with Kaworu— 

Welcoming the embrace of the lulling arms of sleep, he allows his hair to shade his eyes as he fades. He lets his loosening muscles get the best of him and lets his head fall to the side. Pressure in his head subsides as his concerns about what Kaworu will do lessen. He’ll think of something, Shinji concludes, exhaling. I won’t nap for that long. 

***

The trance is broken with a new arrival of disturbances. Senses feel garbled at first: the disembodied voice on the speaker is drawling out destinations and times, the pitter-patters of steps sound more akin to flowing water, and voices congest together to form nothing intelligible. Everything is out of focus.

He blinks. Once. Twice. But, he doesn't dare turn his head. Everything clears up with the third lift of eyelids as if one ran a hand across a foggy window. 

Everything, that is, except for an odd pressure on Shinji's right hand. 

Taking a barely audible, shuddering breath, he angles his gaze downwards, directing it squarely at the pale hand placed gingerly atop his own. He didn't know what he was expecting. His breath hitches and cheeks redden as the something in Shinji's chest becomes so overwhelming, too overwhelming— 

"Ikari-kun?"

Kaworu disregards the jolt of Shinji's entire body as he rises off of Kaworu's shoulder, albeit quickly, not even realizing he was leaning on it in the first place.

"I- um, I'm sorry, I didn't-!" he chokes out, a complete verbal mess. Before the shame of the circumstances can suffocate him, Kaworu interjects, thoroughly dulling out his words while a ghost of a worried frown lingers on the parts of lips not obscured by that damn scarf. His red eyes are looking him right in his disheveled face.

"Ikari-kun, are you alright?" 

Shinji, unable to pick and choose the right words to say amidst his shame, just shudders out a breath and nods in meek reply. He's white-hot with the electricity of the rush of emotions frying his face, and at this point, he's sure there's no way that odd character hasn't taken notice to it. Maybe he wasn't paying attention and his hand just slipped. Maybe there was a bug. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But, those excuses don't explain how Kaworu's hand tightens around Shinji as he finishes his tacit reassurance. It doesn’t explain the oddly relieved sigh Kaworu takes as Shinji doesn’t recoil. 

Among this tidal wave of sensations and thoughts that he can't bring himself to outwardly articulate or internally explain, he allows his fringe of brown hair obscure his eyes as he bows his head and reluctantly turns away from the boy made of stars and smiles. The tautness in his body he disregarded just moments earlier disintegrates as he lets the warmth of Kaworu’s hand seep into his.

Shinji says two words, choosing to speak despite his raspy voice and awkward demeanor: “Thank you.”

He really does like the subway after all.


End file.
